


falling for you

by sehnsvcht



Series: definition of love [3]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meeting, M/M, baekhyun is smitten and takes pictures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 10:52:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11011980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sehnsvcht/pseuds/sehnsvcht
Summary: Berlin is snowy, enchanting, and Baekhyun falls in love with it—and maybe with the man hidden in the shadows of his favourite coffee shop, too, along the way.





	falling for you

**Author's Note:**

> So [these pictures](http://www.weibo.com/5861669187/F50H38s84?from=page_1002065861669187_profile&wvr=6&mod=weibotime&type=comment#_rnd1495853726239) were released today and I had a little bit of an epiphany moment. Imaginary tears were involved. As well as a lot of emotions. I could go on and on about these pictures, honestly.
> 
> Hence, this. I don't know where it comes from, or how it came to be at all. Sarah is to thank, too. Obviously.
> 
> So! Here's Baekhyun and Yixing's first meeting in this universe. Enjoy!

Snow falls down around Baekhyun, splatters against the cement walls surrounding him, hits the ground silently.

He runs his way through the streets, dodging pedestrians on his way, a hand secure against his backpack and the other holding his hat clumsily over his head. If he makes it fast enough, he might, _might_ make it somewhat dry to the coffee shop. Maybe.

As long as his gear is kept intact.

He’s only been in Berlin for about three weeks now, but he’s already in love with it—from the constant bustle of the streets to the invigorating sense of excitement and that runs through them, the city makes it hard for Baekhyun to miss his grandparents’ farm house, far, far away back in Korea. Berlin is full of promises, and Baekhyun is seduced by it all. Years of tensions—though they occurred a long time ago—did not manage to destroy the city, not all of it. It remains beautiful, enchanting, so easy to fall for. It does wonders for his pictures.

German isn’t easy to learn, but Baekhyun is making efforts. He can order coffee, now.

As he suspects, he makes it somewhat dry to his favourite coffee shop. Snow still sticks to the end of his dark brown hair strands, and he shakes it off with a hurried hand as he enters the small store.

Inside, leather couches surround old, wooden tables, low and worn out with time but still holding strong despite the years. The brick walls are decorated with various paintings, shadows playing over them as the low lights suspended from the wooden ceiling sometimes flicker. There’s a warm, welcoming quality to the setting, and Baekhyun shivers with a smile.

He places his order—a latte, two sugars—and sits at the far end, on a chair rather than a couch. With care, he opens his backpack, sorting through the mess to take out his precious gear.

“There you are, hey,” he whispers softly, feeling the leather and metal of the camera under his fingertips with a wide grin. “Good to see you aren’t wet from the rain. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

The soundtrack of the winter wind from the outside blends in with the voices in the space around him, speaking a language he barely understands. Still, he feels strangely at home in this place, this whole-in-the-wall paradise he found by pure hazard on his second day in the city, charmed by the strong smell of coffee and pastries and the warmth it provides.

“Ready?” Baekhyun asks his camera—it’s an old habit he’s picked up from his grandfather, and it makes him smile on the spot at the thought.

He points the camera to the counter, snapping one simple shot of it, with the chalkboard menu behind the wooden structure, hung against the wall. The waitress has her head down, ginger hair covering her face. Baekhyun thinks it’ll make a worthy shot. Hopefully, the film captures the beautiful shine of her braids, despite the lack of colour of his current roll.

Shooting in black and white is a challenge, but not one Baekhyun isn’t ready to take on. The absence of colour was hard to work with, hard to get accustomed to, at first—how could Baekhyun imagine a world without the green of tree leaves, the red of ripe strawberries, or the blue of the summer sky? Colour has made its way to pictures—static and moving—a long time ago, now, and Baekhyun used to fail to see the beauty of its absence.

It took a few surprisingly stunning portraits and a few more random street shots for Baekhyun to truly pinpoint what really was the beauty behind a world in black, white, and gray—the contrast of light, its brightness and its darkness. The way shadows play over facial features, over the irregularities of one’s skin or a street’s pavement; the way the sunlight draws patterns on plants and flower petals, and how their tones of gray vary with the light and their colours despite being invisible. It forces Baekhyun—and he hopes, whoever gets to see his pictures—to think differently, to _see_ differently. There’s an interesting depth a lack of colour can provide, he has come to learn.

Baekhyun puts down his camera when the waitress comes to him with his drink, muttering a shy, “ _Danke_ ,” to which she replies with an amused smile and a nod. Baekhyun _has_ been making efforts, hey.

He takes a quick sip, careful not to burn himself with the drink. He probably should be careful with what all that coffee does to his wallet, too—but he thinks it’s worth it, thinks there’s nothing wrong with spending a little time (and money) in a place like this, when it feels so peaceful and charming he could spend his entire life in this small shop.

He scans the crowd with quick eyes, humming to himself. German music is great, new, and very Western-sounding—but maybe Baekhyun misses the ballads his older brother would sometimes hum under his breath, despite being slightly dated due to the couple years he had on him. Baekhyun doesn’t mind being his own radioman.

His eyes catch on a pair of girls, sitting by the window, sharing a cheese Danish and talking animatedly between them. One of them has a rather soft smile on her lips, nodding along as the other talks and talks, and Baekhyun can’t help himself when he raises his camera and snaps a picture. He smiles along with them, and hopes they see it.

Aside from them, there are few interesting customers, today. Many patrons, catching a quick coffee break in between their busy work hours, or older men yelling at the radio and arguing about nothing and everything.

Baekhyun is about to put his camera back when someone’s profile, hidden in the shadows at the far end of the room, suddenly catches his attention.

He isn’t German, that’s for sure. Maybe that fact alone attracts Baekhyun’s eye, at first.

But, no, that’s not just it—the young man has his head hanging between his shoulders, eyebrows drawn in concentration and glasses sliding down his noses. The sleeves of his shirt are pushed past his elbows, right hand furiously scribbling in a leather bound journal against the wooden table in front of him. There’s other papers scattered across the surface, and from where Baekhyun is sitting, he thinks they’re postcards, or maybe photographs—is he a photographer, too? Or a writer? A journalist, maybe.

Either way, the man is fascinating. Baekhyun settles on observing him, the slope of his nose and the way his hair falls over his forehead, the slight frown that won’t ease between his eyebrows. Wherever he comes from, Baekhyun wonders briefly why he’s here, of all places. Is he driven by a desire to see the world, too, like he is? Is he on the haunt for something? Or is he an artist in search for a muse, an inspiration?

The man stops his frantic scribbling, pushing his hair away from his forehead. He’s pretty, Baekhyun thinks. Handsome, hard traits softening around his lips and eyes, sharp yet inviting. As he relaxes in his seat, the man turns, bringing an arm over the backrest of his seat thin, long fingers curving around it delicately.

Baekhyun doesn’t even realize he’s glancing through his camera lens until his index finger presses against the shutter, and it goes off—a soft _click!_ resonates, and Baekhyun holds his breath.

Through the lens, the man barely budges. He brings his hand up to pillow his head, jaw resting against his hand. Baekhyun snaps another picture.

In his peace, like this, the man is stunning—edges erased and softer, almost ethereal in the low light of the shop. There’s a dreamy quality to his eyes that’s both attractive and unreachable, as though the man’s thoughts were too far away for anyone to reach. It only makes Baekhyun more curious, a tiny smile playing on his lips he barely knows is there.

When his finger presses a third time against the button, Baekhyun’s heart leaps.

The man has turned, staring straight through his lens, through him.

Baekhyun inhales quickly, lowering his camera almost too fast. The man only stares at him for a moment before he smiles, nodding once before returning to his work without any other indication of acknowledging Baekhyun at all, hands steadier across the paper.

It’s like nothing happened at all.

Baekhyun raises an eyebrow, before he shrugs. The stranger was nice enough to let him keep his pictures, right? This interesting, beautiful, odd stranger, with his contrasting traits and stunning good looks.

However, as intriguing as he is, Baekhyun doesn’t spend any more time on him. He snaps a few more pictures of the little details he catches around the shop, before he puts down his camera, turning to his drink. It takes about five minutes for Baekhyun to finish his coffee. Then, when he deems this short escapade long enough, he packs his things and makes to leave the shop.

He spares one last look to the man hidden in the shadows, head bent over his journal. Just when Baekhyun makes to leave, however, the man turns to him, as if on cue, and Baekhyun stops.

The man tilts his head, tiny smile appearing across his lips. Then, he nods towards the chair facing him, on the other side of his table, as an invitation.

Baekhyun points a finger towards himself. “Me?” he mouths, before he realizes this man might not even know Korean.

The man nods again, though, smile broadening, and Baekhyun deflates with relief. But then, his trepidation comes back quickly after that—this stranger has just _invited_ him, seemingly for a conversation or an explanation, and Baekhyun has no idea what he just got himself thrown into.

What if he _isn’t_ Korean? Baekhyun can order coffee in German just fine, but that doesn’t require providing reasons for taking pictures of strangers, or keeping up with any conversation that doesn’t involve ordering caffeinated drinks, for that matter. Baekhyun can blabber some Japanese, and Lu Han has told him many times his Mandarin pronunciation is a little off but he can still manage with the language.

He swallows, making his way back inside between the tables until he reaches the stranger at the far back. From here, the smell of pastries is stronger, the kitchen being right behind the white wall next to them.

The man doesn’t say a word at Baekhyun’s presence—only points to the chair, once again, and Baekhyun sits, waiting. But the stranger still does nothing after that—he only goes back to his scribbling—or writing, now that Baekhyun is close enough to see; Chinese, it looks like—and acts as though Baekhyun doesn’t exist at all.

Baekhyun clears his throat. “Hm. Um. Hello?” he tries, in Mandarin, and winces when the tones come out the way Lu Han has taught him was _not_ right.

The stranger smiles, looks up over his glasses to fix Baekhyun with a challenging stare. “You’re Korean, aren’t you?” he asks, Korean rolling off his tongue slowly but assuredly.

Baekhyun sighs in relief. “That I am,” he says. “Is my accent that obvious?”

“A little,” the man nods, before he shrugs. “It’s cute, though, don’t worry.” Baekhyun nods, unsure what to say. When the silence stretches for a few more moments, the man speaks once again. “You know, you can continue taking pictures, if you want.”

“Is that why you called me over here, then?”

“Yeah, why not? You can get close-up shots and whatnot, from here, right? Better than zooming in on me from your table, isn’t it?”

Baekhyun raises his eyebrows. “You don’t mind?”

The man winks, and Baekhyun thinks he stops breathing. “Definitely not. I love the attention.”

He almost rolls his eyes, but stops himself just in time. Baekhyun doesn’t know this man, after all; but he has a feeling the easy conversation they’re having is just a hint at how approachable the man is, despite his harder features and the dark shadows playing across his face.

Baekhyun fishes for his camera inside his bag another time, and puts it on the table. That’s when he takes notice of the pictures on the table once more. “Postcards?”

“Mmh?” The man looks up, and then back down at the table, before he nods. “Oh, yeah. I’ve done quite a lot of travelling, lately, and I have a habit of picking these up wherever I go.”

“Interesting.” Madrid, Paris, Shanghai, Delhi, Istanbul… Some of these places, Baekhyun has never even heard of. “What do you do for a living?”

“I write,” the man replies with a soft, low voice. It makes Baekhyun look up almost instantly, eyes drawn to the man’s own—dark but soft, penetrating but steady.

“What do you write?”

“Whatever I want. Stories, all kinds of stories. Usually, I pick them up from the people I meet. A little like the postcards, in a way.”

Baekhyun understands that. Anything can be a story, he knows. His grandfather taught him that. “I tell stories, too. With my pictures.”

“I’m sure you do,” the man smiles again, dimple showing in his cheek, and Baekhyun smiles back.

“I’m Baekhyun, by the way,” he introduces himself, extending his hand over the table. “Byun Baekhyun.”

“Zhang Yixing,” the man—Yixing—answers in turn, shaking his hand delicately. “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Baekhyun.”

“Likewise.”

And just like that, Yixing looks down at his journal, his pen back on the paper, and Baekhyun busies himself with his gear. Yixing was right—from up close, his shots are bound to get more interesting, especially now that he has an idea of the man Yixing is. It might not be much, but Baekhyun doesn’t need more to work with.

Or maybe he does—maybe he wants to know more of Yixing, of his own story and the ones he tells with his words. Maybe Baekhyun wants to share his own stories with him; maybe he wants a brand new story of his own with Yixing as the main character.

It only takes about two minutes of Baekhyun fiddling impatiently with his camera before he asks, “Actually, do you want to like, pose for me, for a while? Just a few shots, I promise.”

Yixing stops, literally freezes for a beat or two, before he regains composure and looks up to Baekhyun with wide eyes. He looks a little silly, like this, but it only makes Baekhyun’s heart flutter a little more than it already is. “Pose? For you?”

“I mean if you’re busy, I would understand. I don’t want to disturb you in your work—is that a novel you’re writing, by the way?”

“I—no, not a novel, those are just notes for an article, but—” Yixing cuts himself off with his chuckle, shoulders loosening with the motion. “Baekhyun, you’re really something, aren’t you?”

“Oh, come on. We’ve only just met,” Baekhyun mumbles, but he smiles when he says it.

“Yeah, and I can already tell. Must mean something, right?” Yixing’s smile is genuine, and Baekhyun wants to ask him what he means, but Yixing decides to speak again and so Baekhyun keeps quiet. “I wouldn’t mind posing for you, you know. Just tell me how you want me.”

Involuntarily, Baekhyun blushes. He isn’t one to shy away from an innuendo—definitely _not_ —but there’s something about Yixing’s imposing, almost intimidating beauty that has him flustered like a teenager.

He isn’t that much older, either, but still. It’s a little unsettling.

“Okay, um, well. You know how you were earlier? With the,” Baekhyun twists at his waist, moving his arms around, “around the backrest. That was cool. Wanna try that out again?”

“You won’t get the same angle from earlier where you’re sitting, though,” Yixing remarks, but he’s moving as Baekhyun asked nonetheless.

“I know that,” Baekhyun says, standing up. He sits down behind Yixing, and they’re so close like this, Baekhyun’s eyes are immediately drawn to Yixing’s soft, plump lips. He should look away. “That’s why I’m here, now.” He’s _still_ staring at Yixing’s lips. Baekhyun swallows.

“Everything alright?” Yixing asks, his voice barely a breath between them, and Baekhyun startles.

“Everything alright, yeah,” he says, scooting back and moving the camera quickly in front of his face. “Okay, yeah, you’re looking great like that, thanks.”

Yixing smiles softly, before schooling his features in a serious face that still retains some of that peace he exudes. “I know I do.”

Baekhyun does roll his eyes this time, mostly because Yixing can’t see him, from behind the camera. He snaps a shot, and almost mourns it when he realizes Yixing isn’t looking at the lens.

“Look at me this time,” Baekhyun says, and regrets the words when they come out of his mouth.

_Look at me? Me?_ What is he thinking? Baekhyun is a _professional_ —or soon to be one, anyway—and professionals ask for their subjects to look at the _lens_. He should stop making silly amateur mistakes like this; Yixing’s gorgeous face doesn’t excuse any of them.

Yixing, however, seems unfazed, only raises an eyebrow before he stares right at the camera, his eyes not once leaving it. “This okay?” he says, bringing his hands close to his face.

Thin fingers, long and slender, and Baekhyun is enraptured. “Perfect,” he says without really thinking.

He snaps two pictures—one where Yixing’s thumb pushes against his lips, and another, closing up on his face, with the light and the dust playing with the lens and softening Yixing’s hands across his face. Baekhyun bites his lip, smile threatening to broaden.

“Got anything good?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Baekhyun nods. Yixing smiles at his excited tone. “You’re kind of pretty damn gorgeous, so really, you make the job easier.”

That sudden honesty catches them both off guard, but this time, Baekhyun doesn’t recoil, doesn’t try to run after his words. None of what he said wasn’t true, and if he’s picked up on Yixing’s cues right, he might have a chance at this odd encounter becoming more, something… steady, regular. An adventure he thinks he’s ready for.

“Thank you,” Yixing grins, dimple making a reappearance. Baekhyun stands up to join his previous seat, and Yixing speaks again when he’s facing him. “You know, we should do this again. If you need more pictures, obviously.”

“I always need more pictures,” Baekhyun says. “There’s no such thing as too many pictures. I’m always up for a new story.” He points at Yixing’s journal. “Maybe you could tell me about your stories, next time, too.”

Yixing nods, slow, calculated, skin pale like the snow that falls outside. Baekhyun raises his eyebrows at him, expectant. Then Yixing looks down, shy, and Baekhyun thinks he might have found a promise in Yixing, just now, that goes far beyond his words. “Yeah, next time. Definitely next time.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you've made it this far (despite the lack of action), thank you so much! Let me know what you think, I always always love and appreciate every single one of you.


End file.
